


The Heat of the Rut

by Esteliel



Series: Nepeta Cataria [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Biting, Cat Dicks, Catboys, Claiming Bites, M/M, Madeleine Era, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Something Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3983599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There. See how you want it.” Javert sounded almost smug with satisfaction at being proven right, and Valjean could not protest anymore because it was true. Instinct had taken hold of him, so that he, a lion in his fourth decade, now found himself hard and eager, his body greedy for what even now the heat in his blood whispered to him was perfectly natural, was his right, as though he was still a young cub in that first season of adulthood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heat of the Rut

“Javert, be reasonable,” Valjean said, his voice wavering somewhere between despair and the raw, helpless need that had taken hold of him sometime between when he had settled into his office in the morning and the moment Javert had walked in. He knew what it was, of course, even though for the longest time he had pretended that he did not feel his body flush with need, continuing to read letter after letter despite the trembling of his hand, his tail vibrating with an unprecedented tension whenever there were voices outside his window.

There had been no heat in Toulon. They were too starved for such a thing; a body bent on survival had no time to waste energy on such frivolous pursuits. Nineteen long years later, he had not even thought of it again; he thought it long past him, like his nearly forgotten youth. He had not missed it. What use had he for such a thing? He could not afford to lose control of himself, not here, not ever. Especially not when Javert was still watching him with suspicion, ears flat, tail twitching, whenever they were forced to meet. Sometimes Valjean even thought that Javert was trailing him in the streets, just as he would trail a criminal.

“Javert, you cannot–”

“I know what is wrong with you,” Javert said curtly, managing to sound disdainful of Valjean's continued protest even from his precarious position beneath Valjean's strong body.

Valjean stared helplessly at the hand that held Javert in place. How had this happened? How could this man have been allowed entrance when he had tried to make certain that his secretary would allow no one in today?

“Monsieur, you are ridiculous.” 

Javert's ears were still flat against his head, and he continued to speak scornful words that made Valjean shiver. “It is very easy. You know as well as I do that it is the heat. Very well, do as you must. You cannot ignore it; it will get worse.”

Valjean exhaled, his whiskers vibrating even as his tail twitched against Javert's leg. Experimentally, he pulled one hand off Javert, just to prove to himself that he could still step away from this, that Javert was in the wrong–

Javert used his chance with a deep, throaty purr and pushed that hand between their bodies to deftly open Valjean's trousers.

“Javert!” The name was meant as curse. It escaped as a moan already thick with lust, and he watched Javert's eyes darken even as the man kept staring at him intently.

“It is perfectly easy,” Javert muttered again, and then, when Valjean found himself too overcome to protest further, moved his hand to quickly unbutton his own trousers, pushing them down as much as he was able to while another moan escaped Valjean at the way he twisted and writhed.

And it _was_ perfectly easy, or so Valjean's body seemed to tell him. His limbs were heavy and filled with heat, and at this moment, there was nothing he desired more than to give into the haze of lust that filled his head with terrible yearnings that seemed to belong to another man entirely.

“There. See how you want it.” Javert sounded almost smug with satisfaction at being proven right, and Valjean could not protest anymore because it was true. Instinct had taken hold of him, so that he, a lion in his fourth decade, now found himself hard and eager, his body greedy for what even now the heat in his blood whispered to him was perfectly natural, was his right, as though he was still a young cub in that first season of adulthood.

His tail twitched back and forth, the tufted tip lashing his own thighs. He panted. Beneath him, Javert was wriggling around – pushing his own trousers down, Valjean realized, and then, to his great horror, found his own hands join Javert's to help him.

Javert hissed softly, his tail twitching with nerves despite his earlier bravado as he found himself on his stomach beneath Valjean. Valjean's fingers trembled as he rested them carefully on his hips. It was hard, so hard now to think through the haze of need as instinct conquered the parts of his mind that even now watched in horrified disbelief. He'd hurt Javert, he thought again. He shouldn't do this. He could not do this to Javert...

And then Javert turned his head and glared at him, eyes dark and narrow, and said “Goddammit man, will you not just...”

The sentence trailed off in a hiss as he arched his tail out of the way and reached back to grab Valjean's shoulder, pulling him forward. Valjean exhaled a groan of helpless need when they were skin to skin at last, his legs pressed to the back of Javert's thighs, his cock rubbing aching and hard against Javert's balls.

Yes, that was it, instinct supplied and forced him to bend forward, to seek the tender skin of Javert's nape with his teeth, and to bite down, gentle but firm, to hold him in place even as he pushed himself inside.

Javert hissed again and tensed, arching against him with a sound that seemed to Valjean more pain than pleasure. But when Valjean hesitated he tossed his head. Valjean's teeth tightened on him instinctively and he snarled in a quiet rage, muttering to himself in a voice so low that Valjean had trouble making out more than the occasional curse.

“Well?” The word was forced out in impatience, even though Javert's voice was tense and breathless. “Monsieur has me pinned. Is there anything else you are waiting for?” 

Valjean could see that his ears were still resting flat against his head, and his tail, although still arched away from his body to allow Valjean to enter him, quivered with either nervousness or pain.

“Forgive me,” Valjean said, feeling suddenly abashed. Within his body still roared the beast of his nature, the single-minded craving of the rut, and fueled as it was by Javert's warmth beneath him, the tight clutch of his body, the salty skin beneath his teeth, it seemed impossible to resist – and yet, he must.

He had to, he told himself, even as his body shivered with the need to abandon all thought and allow himself to melt into the sun-bright need of his heat: to cease to exist as who he was for a moment, to allow the past to crumble away and exist only in the urgent drive of that single thought to mate, to claim, to do as nature willed him to do.

“I'll hurt you,” he murmured against Javert's nape, and then, feeling ridiculous, licked at the patch of skin where his teeth had left red marks. Despite his words, his hips rocked forward a little, and he slid a little deeper inside. Javert hissed again and arched and tilted back his head until the sight of his pale, bared throat filled Valjean with such bliss that he had to close his teeth around it again.

He could feel himself fully inside Javert now. Javert had born it. Javert was still hissing, his ears flat with nervous distrust, but he had not sought to escape, not even once, and Valjean licked at his skin again in apology. 

“You're ridiculous, Monsieur.” Javert's voice was tense despite his proud words. His tail had drooped a little, and Valjean could feel him quiver when he dared to stroke a hand along his flank. Javert's ear twitched as if in annoyance. “Anyway, it hardly matters. You should do as you need.”

“I don't want to hurt you,” Valjean said, even as his hips rocked gently against Javert, and Javert's tail tensed and quivered.

“Will you cease your complaining!” The words escaped Javert with another hiss even as his neck twisted in Valjean's grasp, and then he stilled, panting in pained exhaustion, his head bent low. “Forgive me, Monsieur. I should not talk to you in such a way.”

Valjean could only groan as Javert pushed back against him as if to prove a point, and then Javert made a deep, tense sound somewhere within his chest, his hands scrabbling at the ground as his back arched, and this time, there was as much pleasure as pain in his moan.

“There. There! Do that again!” he demanded, and Valjean hesitated only a heartbeat before he began to comply, pulling back very slowly and carefully, even though the drag of his spikes nevertheless pulled another pained groan from Javert. Then he slid back inside, and again Javert arched, his tail tensing in a perfect curve over his back as he shivered and moaned.

“Yes! Again. Do it again! Stop being so... so careful!” he demanded, and Valjean was not certain whether to laugh or moan at the way the tight body clutched him. 

It was good. Valjean could not deny it. The heat had bloomed within him like the fire of the sun, and he had barely enough control left to make certain that he was not harming Javert. Javert felt good against him – and who would have thought that he would ever think such a thing? But Javert smelled like heat and sex. It was an intoxicating mix that drew him as much as the man's sounds of pleasure, as much as the thumping of his heart while everything within him was burned away clear and hot by the awful, irresistible need that told him to push inside, again and again, to make Javert writhe and cry and bite his neck hard to hold him in place.

Valjean forced himself to breathe slowly, even as his heart seemed to threaten to burst in his chest, licking at the salt of Javert's sweat instead of biting down. 

“Monsieur!” Javert begged after a long moment, his tail sliding against Valjean's thigh. “Oh, Monsieur, please.” His voice was desperate now, even as his tail whipped against Valjean's thigh in displeasure. “Just do it. I do not mind. Just stop being so damned careful!”

“Javert...” Valjean tried to move back a little, only to feel Javert hiss, his body so tight around him that he thought it would be impossible to pull out – the spikes would tear him, he couldn't do this, there was still time; they could simply wait it out...

“I do not mind! Good God, what is the matter with you!” 

Javert groaned irritably, and then he growled, his ears flattening even more, and reached back, his nails scratching over Valjean's thighs to leave red welts even as he writhed in his grasp and worked himself further onto his cock.

Valjean hissed in shock, his tail lashing Javert's sides. His teeth closed down hard enough on Javert's neck that Javert made a furious sound of pained lust. Then instinct took over, the pain of the scratch blossoming hot and red inside him until all that was left was the need within him, and he fucked Javert even as he writhed in his grasp with tortured sounds of ecstasy at the rough friction of the spikes rubbing inside him with every thrust.

Valjean had never felt anything like it. Not even that first spring,when he was no longer a cub. Not when his body had matured, when everything felt the call of the season and a restless sensation had filled him with nearly endless energy, even after days of hard work. But those long forgotten days were nothing at all compared to the sensation of Javert's hot skin against his mouth, the tight clutch of his body, the brush of a tail against his thighs.

He had not known it would be like this, Valjean thought, and shuddered with dread even as his teeth bit down until he tasted blood. Javert arched and cried out in ecstasy and spilled himself helplessly onto the floor, while the heat within Valjean poured out of him in an overwhelming rush of relief. Wave and wave of the dreadful need that had held him in such an iron grasp made him tremble as they moved through his body and out of him at last, spilling wet and hot inside Javert who still groaned and writhed, pinned in place by Valjean's teeth.

He had not known it would be like this – but now he knew, and his stomach turned even at the emptiness that was filling him, now that the heat was gone.

Now that he knew – how would he resist when the heat returned? How would he ever be able to forget this: Javert's heartbeat hot and fast beneath his skin, the scent of his sweat, the taste of salt as he licked his skin – the iron tang of his blood on his tongue, _his_ at last in that most primitive way of their kind.

How would he ever forget. Valjean wanted to weep in sudden, exhausted fury at his weakness. He should not have given in. He should have sent Javert out right at the start and locked the door. 

Valjean found himself carefully licking at the wound his teeth had left in apology, and Javert shivered as his tongue rasped gently over the reddened skin.

“I'm sorry, Javert,” he said, even as another terrible twinge of lust made him twitch at the sensation.

“Well. Well, nothing you have to be sorry for,” Javert muttered irritably again. “Nothing at all. Just let me get up now. This has taken enough time already.”

Valjean frowned. Javert was still tight around him, and he brushed his lips against a teeth mark. “What do you mean? You can't get up.”

Javert hissed and writhed beneath him, shoulders rolling as he tried to escape Valjean's touch – but only for a second, and then he froze, and Valjean had to bite back another sound of overwhelmed pleasure. He was still hard inside Javert, the spikes that lined his cock rigid and fully extended, and the writhing had made them drag against the walls of his insides until Javert had to stop with a low whine of discomfort and humiliation.

Valjean shook his head even as Javert's tail flopped dejectedly to the ground. 

“I told you. You will hurt yourself if you keep this up. I'm very sor–”

“Yes. You've said it before,” Javert muttered. “Very well. As the mayor pleases. How long?”

Valjean swallowed. They were both still on all fours on the ground, and now that the rut had mostly left him and sense had begun to return to him, it was a rather awkward position to find himself in. 

Javert's ears were tilted back, although he was careful not to look up. Valjean could see that the flush that had spread across his nape was deepening even more. He ground his teeth when he felt Javert twitch around himself; he was softening slowly, but he did not dare to move before he was fully soft, for fear that the spikes might otherwise do Javert harm.

His tail curled against his leg as he made an unhappy sound. 

“A few more minutes,” he said, and Javert's ears flattened again as he sighed in irritation. Javert's buttocks were warm and damp with sweat, skin stuck to skin. Javert's tail twitched somewhere in the corner of his eye, and without thought Valjean caught it with a quick swipe of his hand, so that Javert made a surprise hiss again. After a moment, Javert fell silent with seething humiliation once more when their position made it impossible for him to reach back enough to extricate his tail from Valjean's grasp.

“We could use the time to talk about that widow's complaint about–” Valjean began, desperately searching for a way to pretend that he was not still buried to the hilt in the man who had watched him with offended suspicion ever since he had arrived in the town. Javert made a soft growl deep in his chest, his tail twitching impotently in his grasp.

“Just be silent,” Javert said curtly. Valjean nearly smiled with relief at so much unwonted impoliteness from Javert. At least he was not the only one unsettled by the experience. The tail twisted again, and he let go of it at last to stroke along its base as if to soothe Javert.

“You need not,” Javert muttered, but the tight clutch of Javert's body around him was relaxing a little. Valjean he did it again, tracing with his fingertips over the area where skin turned into the soft, gray fur of his tail. And when Javert arched his back and closed his eyes at the touch, it was not something that had to be talked about ever again, Valjean told himself, even as he kept scratching the perfectly arched back until a deep, rumbling purr vibrated in Javert's chest for long, blissful minutes.


End file.
